


Regret

by holdouttrout



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-30
Updated: 2007-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdouttrout/pseuds/holdouttrout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little ficlet about honor and duty and regret. Set sometime smack in the middle of something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

She had to look up when she heard his question. She met his eyes.

Over the PA, she heard her name being called, probably to the gateroom. She was unable to look away, and she didn't even turn her head or even concentrate on the words.

It was a serious question, but she found herself smiling. She actually laughed, a sharp bark of laughter that made everyone around them turn toward the sound, the conversations in the commissary stilling for just a second.

He looked confused.

She lifted a hand. "Sorry, sorry. It's just that I never expected you to ask me, at least, not like this."

His expression shifted slightly. "So...do you? Regret it?"

She regretted it daily.

Regret was something as present as the air she breathed, as the uniform she wore.

He must have seen the truth in her expression, because he looked away.

They sat there, both ignoring the (non-urgent) page to the gateroom. Both were looking at the table between them. Jack traced lines in some salt that had spilled on the table.

Sam looked up. She waited until she caught his eye.

She said, "But."

And she let him read the other side of the equation in her eyes. The satisfaction she took from her job, the knowledge that she had helped save the world--and not just once--and the fact that despite the cost, they'd done the right thing, however cold that comfort was.

And, beneath it all, her hope. The hope that she buried away behind layers of duty and sacrifice and science and probability. The hope that would not die, not even when she told it to. The hope that someday...

He straightened in his chair and grinned broadly.

"Well, that's okay then." He stood up, and, in a gesture that should have annoyed her, walked around to pull out her chair. "I think someone wants you up there."

Sam sighed dramatically. "They always do, sir." They shared another look before she led the way to the gateroom and duty.


End file.
